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Lee Minho prides himself on being composed. Unshakeable. The kind of student who never needs to raise his voice to win a debate, who knows how to wield a sharp look better than most could wield a thesis. People don’t argue with Minho. They tried , but usually only once.
Except Han Jisung.
Han Jisung, with his stupid silver rings and wispy hair, and his tendency to turn up late but somehow still walk out with full marks. Who slouches in his seat like he doesn’t care, but then dissects Minho’s points with all the laziness of a lion swatting a fly.
They aren’t friends. Everyone knows that.
They just happen to be in all the same classes. Competing for the same presentation slots. Always nominated for the same awards and always posted at the top of the department’s monthly ranking spreadsheet together. He’s like some cruel joke designed solely to test his sanity.
The thing is—Minho doesn’t hate him. Not really.
He hates the way Jisung smiles sideways when he makes a clever point. He hates the way he calls him “Professor Lee” to taunt him. He hates that Jisung always pulls up his sleeves so that his muscles are on display. He hates the way his laugh gets under Minho’s skin and settles there like static.
He especially hates that he notices those things at all.
So when Professor Kim announced that the university van is out of commission, and anyone going to the guest conference tomorrow has to find their own way there, Minho ended up paired with Jisung.
What Minho didn’t know is that Jisung’s “vehicle” is actually a motorbike.
It’s black with red stripes, lean and aggressive, like something out of a racing movie, or at least, Minho thinks so . He never watched one. Jisung stands beside it in ripped jeans and a worn leather jacket covered in patches from an array of thrash metal bands. His helmet’s already on, but Minho can see the cocky smile in his eyes.
“Morning, Minho. You ever been on one of these?” Jisung asks, voice muffled behind the visor.
“No,” Minho replies flatly. “I value my life.”
“Aw,” Jisung purrs, handing him a second helmet. “Loosen up, Minho. You’re so uptight.”
Minho grits his teeth, pockets his glasses, and slides the helmet on. “Whatever.” Jisung takes his bag and stuffs it into the compartment.
The seat is small . Too small. Once Minho climbs on behind Jisung, he realises there’s no way to sit that doesn’t involve full-body contact. He has no choice but to wrap his arms around Jisung’s waist.
Jisung hums. “This is nice. Finally getting close after all these years.”
“Shut up.”
“See, you talk to me like that, but your hands are saying something else.”
“I swear —”
And then the bike kicks into motion, and Minho’s breath is stolen clean out of him.
They shoot forward, and he’s slammed right into Jisung— chest to back, thighs pressed tight around him, his groin inadvertently locked against the curve of Jisung’s ass. And the road is not smooth. Every bump jolts him closer. Every lean in a turn grinds him just a little more into place.
Jisung’s body is warm. Relaxed. The bastard even shifts forward slightly like he’s trying to give Minho more room, which only makes it worse. Because now every tiny movement stokes the friction, stokes the tension, and Minho is trying so hard not to—
He’s getting hard.
No, no, no, no .
This cannot be happening. This is not him . Minho doesn't get distracted by what's between his legs. Plus, this is Han Jisung, the idiot who once wore sunglasses and a beanie during a debate.
Minho squeezes his eyes shut. Tries to think of anything else. His GPA. Dead philosophers. Packed buses.
But the way Jisung shifts again, subtly, makes Minho think he knows . He knows what it’s doing to him.
Minho tries not to squirm. But the bike moves under them, the engine a low growl that shudders up through his legs, into his hips, and right where he really doesn’t need it. Every turn shifts Jisung’s weight. Every shift grinds them together more. Minho’s breath starts coming in short, his heart hammering behind his ribs.
And now Minho swears that Jisung’s back presses into him a little more on the next straight road. Not enough to be obvious. Just enough to be unbearable.
The city falls away behind them, replaced by tree-lined stretches and the blur of the forest. Wind pulls at their clothes. The scent of summer clings to the air. Minho closes his eyes, trying to calm the roaring inside his head. Tries to focus on the smells and sounds of nature instead.
Spoiler alert: it doesn’t work.
Jisung rides like he was born to do it— steady, confident, leaning into each curve. There’s no room. No relief. No way to move without grinding against him. No way to breathe without feeling the heat between his legs.
Jisung’s back flexes against him, his body so warm and solid that Minho can’t help but notice every movement.
He’s painfully hard.
The vibrations really don’t help. They hum through the seat, buzzing up his thighs, coiling in his belly, teasing at his nerves. His jeans are already unforgiving— tight, stiff, and hot— and now they feel like a trap. Every little movement catches the fabric against him, rubbing the seam along the underside of his cock.
His body is a traitor.
A slow, rhythmic ache throbs beneath the waistband, and he’s flushed all over, sweating under his jacket despite the wind tearing past them. He tries to shift back— to ease the pressure— but Jisung is right there, firm and steady.
He adjusts forward slightly, just to find a new angle that stimulates him less, but the motion drags his cock along the seam of his fly in a way that nearly knocks the air from his lungs.
His grip on Jisung’s waist tightens. He buries his face lower, the helmet pressing to the curve of Jisung’s shoulder, as he bites back a sound he’s terrified might escape.
And then it happens again.
Another curve. A jolt.
Jisung leans them hard into a turn, and Minho’s hips grind forward— hard . His cock drags firmly against Jisung’s backside, and his whole body lights up with sensation.
He shudders. His thighs squeeze tighter. His toes curl in his shoes.
The vibrations under him seem to focus, now, like they’ve come to life and have found the most sensitive place and decided to attack. They buzz directly into the cradle of his hips, through the base of his spine, and along every nerve that’s already screaming for release.
It’s too much.
He adjusts again, less cautious now. A slow, involuntary rutting motion, trying to ease the pressure. Just once. Just enough to breathe.
But it helps for all the wrong reasons.
Pleasure sparks hot and sharp beneath his skin, and he whines before he can stop it, tiny and desperate, muffled inside the helmet. Jisung doesn’t say anything, but Minho feels his chest move with a slow inhale, like he heard it.
Minho freezes. Shame curls low and heavy.
Except now, he can’t stop.
His cock is throbbing, painfully hard, and every vibration is like a pulse, every rock of the bike drawing another maddening rub of denim against it. The warmth between his legs is unbearable, the friction addictive in the worst way. He shifts again, slowly this time, testing the motion—
Except this time, Jisung moves too.
This time, Jisung presses back.
Not a full grind. Not even anything obvious. Just a roll of his hips that rocks directly into Minho’s crotch. Perfect pressure. Exactly what he needed.
Minho gasps.
It punches out of him.
Because that’s all it takes.
Minho comes. The orgasm seizes him, sudden and overwhelming. It tears through his body with humiliating force— his hips twitching, breath caught in a cracked gasp, fingers digging into Jisung’s jacket as his thighs lock tight. His cock pulses, wet and hot, spilling into his underwear as he ruts forward one last, helpless time.
He grits his teeth. Hides his face against Jisung’s back.
The wind howls around them, but all Minho hears is the sound of his breath, ragged and mortified.
His body won’t stop trembling.
The wet heat sticks uncomfortably, spreading through the front of his, thankfully dark, jeans. It’s humiliating.
Jisung still says nothing.
He acts as if he didn’t just purposefully push his ass against Minho’s cock.
Eventually, the bike slows, pulling off onto a gravel path just outside the conference centre/hotel. The main building is quaint and modern, half glass and steel nestled into quiet greenery, as if someone designed a luxury hotel for hikers. Minho sees the banner fluttering above the doors— Interdisciplinary Futures Event — and wonders if it’s too late to walk into traffic.
The bike rolls to a stop.
The engine cuts.
Silence.
Minho stays frozen. Every nerve in his body feels tired. His jeans are cold and sticky, clinging to his skin in the most uncomfortable way imaginable. His thighs ache. His face burns. And Jisung hasn’t said a word.
Minho swallows thickly, then slowly, slowly , lets go of Jisung’s waist. His fingers leave creases in the leather. Jisung shifts to dismount. Moves with a kind of easy calm that makes Minho want to crawl under the pavement and die. He swings one leg over the seat and pulls off his helmet, shaking out his hair.
“Perfect timing,” he says perfectly. “We have thirty minutes before the first session.”
Minho doesn’t answer. He can’t. His voice is buried somewhere under layers of shame and denim. He slides off the seat like he’s made of glass, legs stiff, praying to every deity he’s ever heard of that the wet patch on his dark jeans doesn’t show.
Jisung tosses him a look over his shoulder. “You good?”
Minho nods once. Jerky. “Yeah.”
Jisung offers him his bag like nothing happened. No smirk. No comment. Nothing. And somehow that makes it worse.
Minho wants to scream.
Inside, the lobby hums with conversation and the clatter of name tags being clipped to shirts. Coffee brews near the sign-in desk. The scent of pine from the surrounding forest drifts in through the open windows.
Instead of checking in, Minho makes a beeline for the bathroom. He doesn’t look back to see if Jisung follows. The door swings open, and Minho stumbles in, locking it behind him like he’s fleeing the scene of a crime. Which, he kind of is. Luckily, it’s a singular bathroom, so nobody will interrupt him.
He braces both of his hands on the edge of the sink, feeling his heart pounding in his chest.
I can’t believe you came in your pants.
He doesn’t know what’s worse, the fact that it happened at all, or that Jisung was a part of it. He clenches his jaw and forces himself to breathe, then undoes his jeans with trembling fingers.
The mess is worse than he thought.
Sticky and cold now. The friction from the ride had made it worse, spreading it about in his underwear. He groans, grabbing a handful of paper towels, wetting them and trying to clean himself up as best he can. The denim itself is, luckily, only slightly damp. He dabs at it best he can, cursing under his breath, but it’s not perfect, and the faintest hint of a stain is visible.
By the time he emerges ten minutes later, he feels completely on edge. The hallway is quiet as he turns toward the lobby, ready to blend in and pretend the past few hours didn’t happen.
But Jisung is still there.
He’s leaning against a table, thumbs hooked into the strap of his back. He glances up at Minho and holds something up between two fingers.
A keycard.
Minho blinks. “Is that for me?”
“No, it’s for our room.”
“Our—what?”
Jisung shrugs. “I don’t know, apparently the department made a booking error, so I guess we’re roommates for tonight.”
Minho stares at him. “You’re joking, right?”
“Nope.”
Jisung pushes off the table and flicks the key to Minho’s chest, and he scrambles to catch it.
“Room 801,” Jisung says, like it’s not a big deal. “C’mon. We can drop our bags off before everything starts.”
Minho doesn’t move; he just stands there, his fingers curling around the card.
“Unless,” Jisung adds, “You’d rather stay here sulking?”
“I am not sulking,” Minho says defensively.
“Sure you’re not,” Jisung sighs, turning down the hallway to the stairwell.
+++
They drop off their bags and head down to the conference hall. Minho curses himself for not bringing a spare pair of pants. After all, they are staying only one night, so he didn’t think it was necessary, and it’s not like he could have predicted what happened.
Still, once they are seated in the sleek, glass-walled hall, surrounded by an array of business people and the country's best students, it’s easy to forget for a while. The morning sessions are fascinating and occasionally intimidating— presentations from the city’s leading business owners, politicians, and innovators. Minho almost fills his notepad.
Jisung sits beside him the whole time, leaning back like he owns the place, his usual stance in all honesty. He taps notes into his tablet, occasionally glancing at Minho’s meticulous handwriting with a smirk.
Once the event is finished, Minho feels fulfilled and accomplished. In the evening, a casual banquet has been put on to allow for networking and socialising. The air smells amazing, and the hum of conversation distracts Minho yet again as he tries to ignore Jisung next to him.
Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t take long till they are approached.
“Lee Minho and Han Jisung, right? I’m Bang Chan.” The man introducing himself is well-built, handsome and reeks of CEO. “Your professor has spoken highly of you both.”
Minho gives a polite nod. “We’ve both worked hard.”
“Some harder than others,” Jisung comments under his breath.
Minho shoots him a look. “Some of us don’t class being late every day as ‘hard work’.”
Jisung doesn’t miss a chance to snap back. “Well, unlike you, I get things right the first time.”
“That’s debatable.”
Chan chuckles, and honestly, Minho had forgotten he was even there. “I see you’re both competitive.”
Minho forces a smile. “Only because one of us insists on turning everything into a contest.”
“It’s not a contest if I always win,” Jisung says before sipping from a flute of champagne.
Chan smiles knowingly, then slips a hand into his designer jacket and produces two sleek business cards, subtle off-white with a tasteful watermark. Minho dreams of the day he has his own. “If you’re both still this ambitious by the time you graduate, I’d like to see your names in the list of applicants for my company.”
Minho glances down at the card. “Thank you,” he says with a bow. “That’s extremely generous of you.”
“Just make sure you both bring this fire with you,” Chan says, gesturing between them. “Healthy competition keeps a team sharp.”
The rest of the evening follows like that—handshakes, polite small talk, a stream of new names and business cards. Every now and then, Minho catches Jisung’s cocky smirk across a conversation, as if to say I’m still ahead of you .
He drives him insane.
+++
By the time they make it upstairs, Minho’s shoulders ache from hours of standing up straight and forcing a polite smile on his face. Jisung strolls a few steps ahead, his jacket casually swung over one shoulder.
In the room, two double beds sit side by side with barely any space between, and there is a desk and an armchair tucked by the window. Minho heads straight to the bed where he had thrown his bag earlier, as Jisung does the same.
Jisung stretches, arms lifting high above his head, his shirt pulling just enough to reveal a thin line of skin at his waist. “Hm , it’s not bad. Better than the rooms the university usually books for us.”
Minho hums without looking at him.
“You’re quiet,” Jisung states.
Minho shrugs, rolling his shoulders. “Long day.”
Jisung hums. “That all?”
“That’s all,” Minho says.
“Mm.” Jisung moves around behind him, and then Jisung is there, sitting on his bed. He’s looking up at him with that infuriating half-smile.
“I don’t know, you seem… distracted.”
Minho feels his pulse quickening. “You’re imagining things.”
“Maybe,” Jisung says, letting the word linger for a moment. “Though, I couldn’t help but notice how tightly you clung to me earlier."
Minho freezes for a moment. “We were going fast,” Minho says, pathetically trying to defend himself.
“I didn’t say I minded.” Jisung’s voice is casual, as if he isn’t making Minho’s heart ache in his chest with the ferocity at which it’s pounding.
“Whatever,” Minho mutters, digging into his bag to distract from Jisung.
Jisung stands up then, moving closer. “Don’t get too comfortable. I might decide I want to sleep in this bed instead.”
“You—”
But then Jisung is gone already, grabbing something from his bag and walking to the bathroom, closing the door behind him, followed by the sound of the shower starting.
Minho sits down and exhales, long and slow. He just needs to survive the night.
He gets out his notes, reviews them for the long time Jisung seems to spend in the shower, and just for a while, his head feels clearer. That is, until the shower stops.
His heart quickens again then, listening to the shuffling in the other room.
And then the bathroom door opens.
Steam spills out of the room first, but then Jisung steps through a moment later, still slightly damp, with a white towel slung low around his hips. Water clings to his honeyed skin in rivulets, sliding down over the sharp cut of his shoulders, over the lines of his chest, catching on the curve of the muscle before dipping under his towel.
Minho’s throat goes dry.
He has seen Jisung shirtless before, over a year ago. But this is different. His body has changed, his muscles didn’t look like that the last time.
And then there’s the tattoos.
Blessed , gothic font caressing the shape of his right pec. Minho has seen that one before and even teased Jisung about the irony of a literal devil having it.
But the other one is new.
Script, sharp and beautiful, running in dark ink from just beneath Jisung’s armpit down the length of his side. The words curve over his ribs and disappear beneath the towel at his hip. It makes Minho’s imagination run wild.
Minho’s stomach knots.
He looks away— too quickly— but not before Jisung catches it.
“What?” Jisung says with a teasing lilt to his voice.
“Nothing,” Minho says, voice tight, before he rushes off to the bathroom and slams the door behind himself. He turns the shower on as quickly as possible.
Steam rapidly fills the small room again as he braces himself on the counter, leaning into it for a moment to ground himself. He’d honestly run in here hastily to get away from that look on Jisung’s face— the cocky expression that had somehow amplified in the past day.
But as soon as the moment settles, he realises his mistake.
He’s hard. Again.
This doesn’t happen often. Attraction, sure— he’s not blind— but it’s never been like this. Never so sudden and sharp that it knocks the air from his lungs. All these years, he has managed to keep himself focused, hasn’t allowed for distractions in the form of physical touch. And honestly, he’s never had the urge, never felt like he was missing out.
Well, maybe until now.
Now all he can think about is the curve of Jisung’s chest, the glint of ink against his golden skin. It’s lodged in his mind, and those images just happen to be attached to the most infuriating person in his life. To the one person who occupies his mind during most of his waking hours.
He exhales slowly and strips off his clothes, stepping under the spray. The water is hot and soothing, but it doesn’t wash away his thoughts. If anything, it makes him more aware of the thrum in his pulse and the restless ache low in his belly, and for the first time in years, his control feels like it’s slipping.
Eventually, he manages to finish his shower. And no matter how much he wills it, his cock just doesn’t listen to him. The easiest way to get rid of it would be to jerk off, but there is no chance he’s doing that and risking Jisung hearing him.
And then as he steps out of the shower and reaches for a towel, another realisation pours over him like an ice-filled bucket of water— he left the room so fast he had forgotten to bring the spare towel and his sleeping clothes.
He curses as he looks around the bathroom, confirming what he already knows. The only thing in there is the hand towel. Far too small.
He dries off the best he can with it and does his best to wrap it around himself, pinching the fabric together at the back. It doesn’t even cover his entire ass.
He takes a deep breath before taking a tentative step out of the bathroom.
Jisung is sitting on Minho’s bed, still only wearing his towel, lounging back with one knee up and an arm resting behind his head, showing off the strength of his biceps. He looks up as Minho walks out, and that lazy smirk curls over his mouth as he looks Minho up and down.
“Could you please pass my bag? I forgot to get my clothes out.” Minho asks him brisk and businesslike, though he’s sure Jisung can hear the desperation in his voice.
Jisung doesn’t move, just looks at the bag on the bed next to him. “Why don’t you come and get it?”
Minho shifts his weight, holding the towel tight at the back as his other hand covers his ‘problem’ at the front. “Jisung, I’m not doing this right now.”
“Come. Get it.” Jisung’s voice is quiet and commanding as he stands up from the bed and walks around to the side with the bag. He leaves no room for Minho to disobey.
Minho swallows, heat rising at the tips of his ears. He can just grab it and be done. It’ll be fine. He takes a step forward. Then another.
He’s almost at the bag, and then Jisung steps closer, blocking his way.
The sudden movement freezes Minho in his place. Now they are face to face, only inches apart. Minho can feel the heat radiating from Jisung’s body, can smell the scent of his body wash.
“Seems like you have a bit of a situation, hm?” Jisung says, his gaze dragging down the bare line of Minho’s chest to where his hand covers himself over the towel.
“I just—please, can I just get my bag?”
Jisung’s eyes flick back up to meet his. “You know, I felt everything you did behind me on the bike.” Minho freezes, his face morphing into shock. “What? You really thought you got away with it?”
Minho opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. “I-I, but I—”
Jisung tilts his head. “Didn’t what? Press your cock right into my ass?”
Minho’s breath catches. Heat flares past just the tips of his ears now, to his cheeks, then all the way to the back of his neck. “I—no… it was—”
Jisung just scoffs a laugh, walking even closer. “You did. It’s not like you hid it well, Minho.”
Minho cringes, shaking his head. “I didn’t mean—”
“Didn’t mean to enjoy it?” Jisung interrupts. “Because I know you did. I could feel it.”
Minho swallows hard, his head getting lighter from how intensely his heart is beating in his chest. “ Please , Jisung… I’m sorry, okay, please, just give me my bag. Let’s just forget it.”
“I don’t want to forget it, Minho,” Jisung says, his gaze intense. “Want to tell me what you’re hiding behind your hand there, hm?”
Minho shifts uncomfortably under his stare. “It’s nothing.”
“Nothing?” Jisung repeats. His eyes drop, lingering on where Minho’s hand clutches the front of the towel. “That doesn’t look like nothing, kitten.”
Kitten? Who does Jisung think he is? And why did it make the butterflies living in his tummy dance?
“Don’t call me that,” Minho says, but his words lack the bite he intended.
Jisung looks at him pointedly, eye to eye. “Why not? You look like a cat, and you’re standing there all wound up, looking like you’re ready to bolt. But you’re still not leaving. Stubborn.”
“Yes. Because I want my bag.”
Jisung doesn’t answer him. Instead, he moves his hand, curling it over the curve of Minho’s bare shoulder. His palm is warm, and yet the contact causes a shiver to travel through Minho’s body.
“No,” Jisung says, his voice low and seductive. “I know exactly what you want, kitten. Something we have both been too stupid to see this entire time. Until today. Until I felt you against me.”
Minho stills and tries to will his brain to come up with something and transmit it to his mouth. But it doesn’t. He’s hyper-aware of the touch, the heat of his palm nothing compared to the flaring of his cheeks. Jisung’s hand starts to move— slowly, trailing down over his collarbone, brushing past his nipple, skimming lightly over the plane of his stomach. Minho’s breath stutters, and every inch Jisung’s hand travels feels like it’s leaving a burning path in its wake.
When Jisung reaches the towel, he doesn’t stop. His fingers slip around the back, to where Minho’s fingers are clenching the fabric tight.
Minho freezes, eyes wide. “Jisung, wha— ”
But Jisung leans in slightly. He reaches Minho’s fingers, curls them over his knuckles, and loosens them one by one, and all Minho can do is let it happen. His grip falters, and then— the towel slips free.
It falls in a heap at Minho’s feet, leaving him totally naked,
Jisung looks down and lets out a soft chuckle. “Wow,” he murmurs, biting at his bottom lip. “You really are just blessed in every aspect, huh?”
Minho’s eyes widen at the implication, and he lets out a confused, choked whine. It’s not like Minho doesn’t know he’s well endowed, it’s just different hearing someone say it— plus, it’s not like anyone else has ever seen or touched it before, either.
“What? You walk around with this and expect me not to notice? You have to know how much attention I pay to you, Kitten. Even if I didn’t realise why . I was a bit stupid, huh?” Jisung’s hand trails to his cheek, caressing it with the back of his knuckles. “Up until this morning, I was so sure you hated me. But you don’t, do you? Or do you just not realise how badly you want me? Are you just as oblivious as I was? You want this too, right?”
Too?
“What do you mean, too?” Minho asks.
Jisung smiles softly now, his thumb brushing lazily along Minho’s jaw. “To be honest, I just loved getting under your skin and teasing you back, watching you get flustered. But after this morning, I realised I’ve been so blind to what’s actually going on here. You think I’ve been putting up with all your snide remarks because I hate you? ”
Minho blinks. “I—well, yes? You always—”
“I always what? Push your buttons? Challenge you? Make it so I’m the only thing you can think about?”Jisung lifts a brow. “It’s the same for me, too. All I can think about is you. I just didn’t realise why.”
Minho swallows. “That’s—” He wants to deny it, wants to defend himself. But he can’t.
“I want you, kitten. Clearly I’ve wanted you for so long, but you’ve always been so closed off. This morning just unlocked something I can’t close anymore.” Jisung’s gaze flicks down to Minho’s cock again briefly, making knots twist in his stomach. “Your body is honest at least.”
Minho’s pulse is thundering. It’s a mess of embarrassment, confusion and something that feels dangerously like anticipation. “Jisung… I’ve never—”
“Never what, kitten?” Jisung asks, his voice surprisingly soothing.
He swallows, eyes closing. “Never done anything like this… with anyone.”
Jisung tilts his head, looking genuinely shocked. “Really? Nobody?”
Minho shakes his head, gnawing at his bottom lip. “I just never… had the chance, I guess. I’m always so focused on studying and working. And I never wanted… distractions.”
Jisung smiles sweetly. “So I’m your first distraction, right?”
The thought makes Minho’s stomach clench because he’s right. He’s so right. This entire time, he’s been stuck in his head about Jisung, just seeing him as a challenge, as an adversary, but in reality, Jisung made him better in every way. He forces him to be better. Forces him not to be complacent. And all this time, Minho has mistaken it for hate. The line between hate and desire is almost invisible at times.
“...yeah,” Minho finally admits. “I guess you are.”
Something like satisfaction, and maybe pride, flickers in Jisung’s expression. His hand comes up, brushing a damp strand of hair away from his face. “So…” Jisung murmurs. “You want to do this. Want me to take care of kitty?”
The nickname makes Minho’s ears burn all over again, but he doesn’t protest, he knows there’s no point anymore. He swallows, his mouth feeling dry, and manages a small, “...yes.”
That’s all Jisung needs to move.
He closes the last remaining space between them, stepping in until their chester meet— until Minho can feel the heat of his skin, can feel Jisung’s breath against his own. The warmth seeps into his skin so quickly that it’s almost dizzying.
Then Jisung shifts just slightly, enough that it forces Minho’s aching cock to drag against the firm plane of Jisung’s stomach.
It rips a shudder out of him, his fingers curling helplessly at his sides.
“There we go,” Jisung says, his tone maddeningly soft, coaxing the fragile parts of Minho open. “That’s all you need to do, Kitten. Just let me take care of you.”
He doesn’t give Minho any more time to think about it, to talk himself out of it. His hand slides up, fingers curling lightly around the back of Minho’s neck, and then their lips connect.
It isn’t tentative. It’s not shy. It’s sure, claiming. Jisung tilts his head to deepen it, coaxing Minho’s mouth open with his tongue.
Minho makes a small sound, and Jisung swallows it, his other hand now resting firmly against the curve of Minho’s hip. The ache between them is impossible to ignore now. Every subtle shift of Jisung’s body drags Minho’s cock against his skin, each time pulling a shaky gasp from his lips.
Every time Minho tries to lean back, to breathe, Jisung follows, pressing closer, keeping him exactly where he wants him. His hand at Minho’s neck is steady and insistent, tilting his head into whatever position he likes. He takes and takes from Minho’s lips until his mind feels like it’s unravelling.
When Jisung finally pulls back, his gaze drops to Minho’s flushed length pressed against him and smirks. “I’d love to sit on your cock now, if you’d let me.”
Minho’s breath stutters. He swallows once before managing to speak. “I— ” His cheeks are burning, and he can’t look Jisung in the eye. “I don’t… I mean— ”
“Shh. It’s okay,” Jisung soothes, moving his hand from his neck to caress the back of his head. “Don’t you want it?”
Minho hesitates. He does want it. God, he really does, but the uncertainty and inexperience cloud his thoughts. “I… I don’t know how to…”
Jisung’s smile is knowing and sweet. “That’s fine. I can guide you, okay?”
Minho nods, small and shy.
“That’s my kitten,” Jisung whispers, leaning in close enough that their noses almost brush. “Can’t believe how shy you are. You’re so sweet.” He presses a soft kiss to the tip of his nose.
Minho whines.
The hand at the back of Minho’s head moves again. His fingertips drift down the side of his neck, skimming over the sharp line of his collarbone. They pause there, pressing lightly into his skin before sliding lower.
They trace a slow path over the centre of his chest, grazing over the curve of his pec before finding their way to his stomach. Minho’s abdomen flutters beneath the touch, tightening on reflex.
His palm spreads wide as it passes over it, leaving goosebumps on his skin. Jisung’s fingers trace the line just above where he aches the most. Then his hand shifts, fingers brushing against trimmed hair at his base before ghosting over his length. It’s barely a touch, but it sends shivers down Minho’s spine. It almost makes his knees buckle.
“See?” Jisung murmurs. “Isn’t life more fun when you switch off?”
His hand finally closes around him. Minho’s knees do give out this time, but Jisung catches him with a strong arm around his back. The heat of Jisung’s palm around him makes a shaky sound fall from his lips before he can stop it.
“Fuck,” Jisung says, a pleased hum threading through his voice. “Love how sensitive you are.”
He starts to stroke. Slowly, precisely, each pass is designed to make Minho feel everything. Minho’s head tips forward, squeezing his eyes shut. His hands still hang uselessly at his sides. He still has no idea where to put them.
“Nobody has ever touched you like this, hm?” Jisung asks, though he already knows the answer.
Minho shakes his head without looking up.
“Mm.” Jisung leans in until his lips brush Minho’s ear. “So glad I can be the first.”
Jisung’s hand leaves his cock just long enough to catch his wrist. He tugs him gently to urge him toward the bed.
“Lay down for me, kitten,” he says. Jisung’s voice is so commanding that it doesn’t even sound like a request. Minho has no choice.
Minho’s breath stills, and for a second he just stands there, rooted to the spot by the way Jisung commands him. Then Jisung’s palm comes to rest against his hip. It’s a gentle but insistent push toward the bed.
His legs hit the mattress and he sits automatically, shuffling to the rest against the pillows. He leans back slightly on his elbows, wide-eyed as he watches Jisung return to the bathroom. Minho watches him walk, seeing the muscles in his back shift, his towel loosening slightly against his hips, and Minho can’t stop himself from looking, feeling his cock twitch as he takes him in.
Jisung returns from the bathroom with a small, clear bottle.
Minho frowns. “Is that lube? Why do you even have that?”
Jisung glances over his shoulder. “One can always hope.”
The implication sends a shiver up Minho’s spine, it pulls heat up his neck until it stains the tips of his ears.
“Hope for what?” Minho asks, though his voice betrays him with the tension running through him.
Jisung doesn’t say anything; he just stands and pads back to the bed with ease. The bottle makes a soft thud as he sets it down beside Minho’s hip. Then Jisung sits next to him, rubbing a thumb over his chin.
“Hope for you, kitten.”
Minho’s breath stutters, his pulse skittering against his ribs. Jisung stands and hooks his fingers under the edge of his own towel and tugs it free. The fabric slips from his hips and falls to the floor, leaving him completely bare.
Minho’s eyes widen, taking in his full naked form.
Beautiful.
Jisung smirks faintly, like he can read every thought flashing through his head. He moves quickly, startling a squeak from Minho’s lips as he crawls over and swings a leg over Minho’s lap to straddle him.
“Wh-what are you doing?” Minho asks, voice strained.
“Getting comfortable,” Jisung says, his voice almost annoyingly calm. His knees bracket Minho’s hips, bringing them close enough that the heat from his skin seeps through every inch where they touch.
Minho’s hands twitch at his sides. “Y-You can’t just—”
“Oh? Can’t I?” Jisung leans in, his chest falling to brush Minho’s. “You were standing there just before letting me touch you, kitten. I know your bite isn’t sharp.”
Minho swallows hard. He hates that Jisung is right, that Jisung is always right. “You’re— ” He breaks off, a scowl tugging at his features. “So annoying.”
“But you like it,” Jisung whispers, leaning even closer until their foreheads almost touch. His hips shift, pressing himself closer, forcing their cocks to touch. Minho can’t stop the whimper that escapes his lips. “See? I already told you. Your body doesn’t lie.”
Minho lets out a frustrated sound, something between a groan and a sigh, but he doesn’t push him off. His pulse pounds. His resolve slipping the closer they get.
Jisung’s voice drops low and seductive. “So, are you gonna let me suck you off and ride your cock… or, should I get off your lap right now?”
The words jolt through him as his eyes go impossibly wide. He knows he should be able to answer quickly, decisively— like he does in every other aspect of his life— should tell Jisung to stop messing with him, but that second option makes his stomach twist.
“I— ” He says, unsure. “I don’t— ” The words tangle, tumbling out clumsily.
Jisung tilts his head and hums, brushing his thumb over Minho’s hipbone, sending a shiver up his spine. “That’s not a no,” Jisung murmurs.
Minho’s breath stutters. His whole body feels like it’s alive with energy from the thrum of anticipation settling in his core. “I just— I just don’t know what I’m doing, okay? I’m nervous,” he admits, his voice so quiet and soft he’s not sure if Jisung even heard him.
This time, Jisung doesn’t smirk at him knowingly or cocky. This time, he gives him a warm, soft smile full of affection. “That’s okay, Minho,” he says, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips again. Minho’s eyes close, lost in the feeling. “Only do what you’re comfortable with. I’ll do the rest okay?”
Minho’s lips part just enough for a whisper to slip out. “Okay…”
That’s all Jisung needs, he places one last kiss on his lips and murmurs, “good boy.”
Then he moves, sliding down the bed until he’s kneeling between Minho’s parted legs. Minho’s breath hitches as Jisung’s palms land on his thighs, thumbs pressing in just enough for Minho to feel his presence. He’s suddenly aware of how bare he is. How exposed and naked, and how intensely Jisung looks at him.
“You have no idea,” Jisung murmurs, his voice threaded with want, “how much I want to get my hands on you.” He proves his point with a slow kiss to the inside of Minho’s knee, letting his lips linger there.
Another kiss follows, higher up this time. “These thighs, kitten…” Jisung’s voice sips as his thumbs sweep slow circles into the muscle. “God, I love them. So strong. So gorgeous. Just wanna bite them.”
The way Jisung speaks about him sends a shiver through his body. He grips at the sheets, his knuckles paling as he tries to keep still.
Jisung takes his time, alternating feather-light kisses with firmer presses of his mouth, each travelling higher than the last. His lips ghost over the skin where his thigh meets his hip, and the muscles in his stomach tighten.
When Jisung reaches the top of his thighs, he stops. He mouths at the skin there, the faint scrape of his teeth makes Minho gasp. Then he sucks harder than before. A dark red mark now replaces the space occupied by Jisung’s mouth. Jisung finishes it off with a kiss.
Then, he leans in, his tongue tracing a slow, deliberate line at the base of his cock. He licks and hums like someone who has finally gotten a taste of something they’ve been craving. Minho’s hips twitch instinctively, seeking out more of that addictive new feeling.
Jisung lingers, licking at the base, his warm breath fanning over skin. It’s just enough to keep Minho teetering on the edge without giving him everything.
“Easy,” Jisung murmurs against him, the low vibration making Minho’s toes curl.
Jisung moves his tongue up again, leaving wet, hot trails along the underside. Then Jisung pauses just below the head, glancing up at Minho with hunger in his eyes.
“You’re shaking, kitten,” he says softly. His thumbs brush along Minho’s hipbone. “Are you okay?”
Minho swallows. “Y-Yeah. Just— ” His eyes squeeze shut. “It’s just … a lot.”
“I know,” Jisung whispers, his voice tender. “But you’re doing so well.”
Before Minho can protest, Jisung lets his lips close around his tip— unbelievably warm, wet and soft. The sensation is dizzying, his nerves lighting up all at once. Jisung doesn’t take him deeper, he just swirls his tongue lazily over his sensitive head.
Minho’s head falls back as a helpless sound slips from his lips. His hips twitch again, chasing the heat of Jisung’s mouth, but Jisung’s steady palms suddenly hold his hips down. He keeps his lips wrapped around the tip, letting his tongue work so slowly that it makes Minho’s chest rise and fall. It’s unlike anything he’s ever felt.
Then Jisung takes him lower, deeper— inch by slow inch— his lips dragging down the sensitive underside in a way that makes Minho’s thighs tense.
“ Ah — ” The sound slips from him without thought.
Jisung pulls back enough to look up at him, smug, “That’s it, kitten. Let me hear you.”
When Jisung takes him into his mouth again, it’s deeper, his lips stretching around him. Minho lets out a harsh breath, and he squeezes his eyes shut as a low, unsteady moan escapes him. It feels so good. He has no idea how to keep himself together.
Jisung moves his hands back to his thighs with a squeeze, and every slow bob of his head sends jolts of desire spiralling through Minho’s stomach. When Jisung’s tongue swipes along the vein on the underside, he whimpers, the sound spilling out before he can stop it. It catches him off guard, a tinge of embarrassment settling in his chest; he’s never made a noise like that before.
Jisung hums around him, clearly pleased with Minho’s response.
Minho can only stare down at him now, watching his lips wrapped around his cock as Jisung loses himself in pleasuring him. “Jisung…”
Jisung makes another humming noise, but doesn’t stop. Then, with one last push, Minho feels his cock hitting the back of his throat. And Minho is struggling to hang on, struggling not to just succumb to the pleasure and come on the spot.
Slick, obscene sounds fill the air as Minhos' toes curl against the sheets. Drool spills from the corner of Jisung’s mouth, saliva dribbling down his shaft. Jisung shamelessly twists his head just right to catch every drop with his tongue.
It's messier than Minho imagined anything could ever be, and his cock shines with saliva as Jisung works him over.
“Fuck, look at you,” Jisung says, pulling off. “You look like you’re about to burst already. Are you, kitten? Hm? Gonna come so quickly?”
“N-no,” Minho stutters. “I can… I can hold on.”
“You can,” Jisung agrees, licking one last slow stripe up his length.
Jisung smirks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he crawls up the bed to press their bodies together again. Once he’s there, his knees on either side of Minho’s legs, he captures Minho’s lips in a deep kiss. It’s messy, wet, and Jisung barely gives him room to breathe. He tilts his head to take more, his tongue sliding against every corner of Minho’s mouth.
Minho jolts when he feels Jisung’s hands travelling down his torso, his hand wrapping around Minho’s cock. The slick mess he’s left there makes the slide even better. Each twist of his wrist pulls a quiet gasp from him.
“Feels good, huh?” Jisung whispers against his lips, and all Minho can manage is a whine and a nod of his head.
Jisung keeps stroking him between kisses for what seems like hours. He watches every twitch of Minho’s face like he’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen.
Finally, his hand slows as he brings his other up to rest on Minho’s shoulder. “You know,” he murmurs. “I was hoping this would happen. Decided I wanted it when you were pouting at dinner. Even got myself ready for you.”
“Ready?” Minho asks, blinking in confusion.
“Mhm,” Jisung answers. “Prepped myself in the shower for you.” His hips roll forward, pressing their cocks together. “Means I can sit on your pretty, big cock whenever I want.”
It hits Minho immediately, exactly what it means. Jisung is going to ride him, take his virginity, and Minho wants it so, so bad. “N-Now?” He asks, his voice quivering, but his cock throbs at the thought of it.
“If you want it,” Jisung asks with a questioning tone.
“ Yes . Yes I want it,” Minho answers quickly. The thought of Jisung ending this now, leaving him hard and wanting, sends panic through his core.
Jisung smiles, biting at his bottom little. “Well, then be a good boy and lay back while I make you feel good, hm?”
Minho nods.
That’s when Jisung takes the abandoned bottle of lube from earlier and undoes the cap, letting the liquid drip onto his fingers, and then down Minho’s cock. Jisung takes the lube in his fingers and reaches behind himself, spreading it over his entrance, before returning to Minho to lather the liquid evenly over his cock.
And then he shifts, lining himself up with Minho’s cock, and slowly sinks down onto him. The first inch has Minho gasping, like the air has been sucked out of his chest. His arms finally move from where they have been planted, and his hands instinctively grab Jisung’s waist.
“F-Fuck Jisung—” His thighs twitch, and all he wants to do is thrust up into his tight heat.
Jisung sighs, and for the first time, he seems to falter, his breath coming in sharp gasps. He keeps sinking, taking him inch by inch until he’s fully seated in his lap. “ Fuck —” Jisung whines, though it’s cut off with a broken moan. “Filling me up so fucking well, fuck, fuck —”
Minho’s breath is coming in hard now, his heart almost clawing its way out of his chest as he feels Jisung clenching around him, gripping him like a vice. It’s probably not the right moment to laugh, but Minho does, soft giggles falling from his lips.
Jisung looks up at him, his eyes slightly hazed. “What are you laughing at?”
“It’s just… I’m so fucking stupid,” Minho answers.
Jisung cocks his head, huffing a laugh. “Care to elaborate?"
“I have a lot of pride in my intelligence, but I’ve been purposefully gatekeeping myself from this feeling. I’m so fucking stupid.”
That earns him a stunned stare from Jisung, which finally evolves into a fit of giggles. Minho hisses, the feeling of Jisung’s shaking body jolting his cock. “Oh, kitten,” Jisung starts, running his palm over his jaw. “You really are the cutest.”
And then he moves. He rises on his knees, savouring the drag of Minho’s cock. And Minho? Minho is in heaven. His grip on Jisung’s waist tightens, and he’s fighting every instinct to shove him back down on his cock. To thrust up into him and take his pleasure. But he’s not selfish.
As soon as just the tip is left nestled inside, Jisung looks into his eyes one more time and winks . And then he drops down again, with a loud, broken moan. The air is stolen from Minho all at once again.
This time, Jisung doesn’t stop, he grips Minho’s shoulders so tightly that it leaves marks, and not once does he take his eyes away from him. Minho might be addicted. Minho has been missing out.
He can feel every inch of Jisung’s body, even where they don’t touch. His cock inside of Jisung, digging something out inside himself he didn’t even know he had buried. He’s never felt so connected, so in sync with another person before, and there’s no way he can have this just once. There’s no world in which Minho accepts that he only gets to feel Jisung tight and hot around him one time.
“ Fuck … “ Minho manages to pant out. “You feel— feel so…”
“So what, kitten?” Jisung asks, still bouncing on his cock, his breath coming in short from exertion. “Tell me what you think.”
Minho groans, sliding his hands down from Jisung’s waist to his hips, seeing the red marks left on his skin from how hard he was gripping him. “So good… good, “ he blabbers. “ So good .”
“Mm, I bet, kitty,” Jisung murmurs. “Can you feel how tight I am around you?”
Minho shudders. “ Fuck , yes, yes, yes. I can— can feel it.” Another loud moan falls from his lips as he grips Jisung tightly. “I can’t keep going… It’s too much, too much …”
“You can,” Jisung corrects, rocking down again and grinning at the way Minho’s mouth falls open. “See? You’re doing so well. Filling me so perfectly. Your cock was made to be inside me, kitty.”
A half-plea, half-whine breaks in Minho’s throat. “ Jisung —”
“What’s wrong, kitty?” Jisung coos, his hand coming up to cradle Minho’s face. “Tell me what you need.”
“I don’t kn—” Minho does know. “You. Just want you.”
“You have me,” Jisung answers. But he contradicts his word by slowing down, and Minho’s eyes widen in panic. “Shh. It’s okay, sweetheart. Was just thinking maybe you wanna fuck me properly, hm? I can tell you’ve been itching to fuck up into me.”
Oh.
Now it’s all Minho can think about. The different ways he could fuck Jisung.
“Yes. Please.”
Jisung chuckles. “That’s what I thought.”
And then he’s pulling off, hissing at the loss of Minho’s cock. He twists until his ass is on full display in front of him, glistening and still slightly gaping, and Minho wants to eat him.
Maybe next time.
Jisung stretches out like a cat, pressing his chest into the mattress, looking back at Minho. “Come on then. Fuck me like you mean it.”
Minho doesn’t think he can move. Not because he doesn’t want to, fuck, he really wants to. But he’s stunned, the breath knocked from him at the sigh t of Jisung’s body, his gorgeous skin flushed, glowing faintly with the sheen of sweat that covers him.
“Kitten,” Jisung says, coaxing. “Don’t tell me you’re getting shy now.”
“I’m—” Minho tries to speak, but it comes out strangled. “I’m not.”
“Prove it.”
Now that’s something he responds to. A challenge. Especially from Jisung.
Minho scrambles to his knees, his hands hesitantly landing on the plush of Jisung’s ass. Feels soft, like a marshmallow. Again, Minho needs to taste.
He lines himself up, the tip of his cock brushing over his slick entrance. He rubs it there, enjoying the feel of Jisung pushing back against him.
“Don’t tease,” Jisung groans.
Funnily enough, Minho has been known for teasing and riling Jisung up on purpose. But something tells him they’re past that now.
He presses in. Slow. His breath catches at the feeling of how tight Jisung is, but also at the sight of him opening up to him so easily, in awe of how he looks stretched around him.
Jisung riding him had been incredible. Something he could probably compare to a religious experience. But this? Being able to see the spot that connects them? It’s too much. He’s going to come.
Minho really wants to take his time. To make Jisung feel good. But he can’t. The moment he’s halfway, it becomes too much.
“ Fuck, Minho,” Jisung moans below him. “Feel so fucking big and you’re not even fully in yet.”
The praise wrecks him. Minho loses control.
He thrusts in, in one harsh motion. Something wild replacing his composure. His hips snap forward as he fucks into Jisung with a ferocity he didn’t even know he had in him. Jisung cries out, his voice a broken mess.
“ Why —” Minho gasps. “Fuck, why does it feel so good—”
And then he looks down again. Sees the stretch, the glide of himself disappearing into Jisung over and over, the perfect way their bodies fit. His stomach drops, a rush of heat flooding every nerve.
“Oh no… no, no, fuck—” The words tumble out from his tongue in a panic. He doesn’t want this to end, but he can’t stop. He tries to drag his eyes away, anything to make this last longer, but he can’t. He can’t stop looking at it, at how his cock disappears into Jisung and grips him like he was made for him. And fuck , the sound of it, wet and sloppy, it goes straight through him.
“Jisung—I… fuck… I’m— ” Before he can even finish his sentence, it’s too late.
His thighs shake, his grip on Jisung gets so tight that the skin dimples under his fingers. His hips jerk forward once, then twice, chasing the feeling.
Then it happens.
His whole body seizes up, his orgasm ripping through him. A broken moan spills from his lips as he buries himself as deep as he can go. His stomach clenches with each hot pulse that empties into Jisung. He stays locked there, watching as Jisung’s hole flutters around his twitching cock.
“Oh my— fuck— ” he whines. His breath comes in hot, shaky bursts. He doesn’t even know if he can move right now. He closes his eyes and waits as his cock continues to jolt inside Jisung.
When he regains some semblance of reality, his fingers finally loosen, the joints stiff and sore from gripping so tightly. “F-fuck, I’m sorry— ” His voice comes out weak, ashamed. “I didn’t mean to— I wanted to make you feel good too. I just— God, you just felt so— I’m sorry.”
“Stop saying sorry,” Jisung cuts in, his voice sounding warm and satisfied. “You got me off, too, baby. Don’t worry.”
Minho’s eyes widen, his eyes flicking down. That’s where he sees Jisung’s arm tucked beneath him, hand curled between his own thighs, his fingers glistening.
“You finished?”
Jisung hums, glancing over his shoulder. “Came all over the bed,” he laughs. “Think we might need to sleep in the other tonight.”
“We?” Minho asks.
Jisung scoffs. “Yes, we. You’re mine now, kitty.”
Oh.
If someone had asked Minho to imagine the least likely outcome for his day, this wouldn’t have even made the list— sharing a narrow bed with Jisung, holding him close to his chest as sleep pulls them under.
No. Instead, Minho would have probably found some creative way to threaten your life.
+++
The week after, Minho is still getting used to the knowledge that he now wakes up with Jisung wrapped around him. That he calls him ‘boyfriend’, instead of ‘bane of my life’.
Their next lecture with Professor Kim starts like any other, that is, until he sets his notes down and says, “Minho, Jisung. How did you both find the conference?”
And before Minho can answer for them, Jisung leans back in his seat, casual and cocky as always, and says, "Hmm, ful… filling."
The word lands like a spark. No one reacts— why would they, they don’t know what Minho knows— but he feels his cheeks heating up. His stomach tightens, and the memory of just how fulfilling it was for Jisung. It’s the only thing he can think of now. And of course, Jisung is looking at him with a knowing smirk.
Minho used to hate that smirk. Used to hate how Jisung always had to get the last word, how damn sure he was of himself. How easily he got under his skin.
But maybe… maybe he never hated it at all.
Either way, now, he is certain. If it ever disappeared, he’d miss it more than anything.